Until We All Fall Down
by xXWinterSonataXx
Summary: Moving to Domino City is April Standig's idea of starting anew. Life's good, except for bad teachers, stupid classmates, and her obnoxious neighbor. But what's out of sight isn't out of mind, and this time, she's got far more to lose. DukexOC
1. Thunderstruck

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh.

This is a story that I've been thinking about doing for a while. It wasn't until last night that these pieces finally clicked for me and I managed to get out this first chapter. So I'm incredibly happy :)

I would really like some feedback on this first chapter, so please leave a review!

**Chapter One : Thunderstruck**

"Please tell me that this is all a lie."

Sitting across from me is my father, who's leaning an arm on the table and rubbing his forehead. I know he's tired of dealing with me and my "teenage-rebellion" behavior, but I could care less. I'm so furious that I'm ready to just scream at him.

And he knows this. That's why he arranged for our dinner tonight to be at an expensive restaurant and _not, _like he promised, at home. He had wanted to break the news to me in a place that had witnesses who really gave a damn about manners. An added precaution, I guess, just in case I lash out at him.

I close my eyes and try to breathe deeply. It doesn't seem to work very well.

"April, this is just a precautionary measure," he says, using that firm tone he employs when talking to a relatively stubborn businessman. Or very bad gangster. He cuts up his steak neatly into little square pieces, seemingly absorbed by the mundane task.

"Me, move to Japan? On my own?" I ask, laughing with derision. "You've got to be kidding me, Dad. I'm only seventeen!"

"It's not safe for you here," he says coldly. My eyebrows furrow together in confusion.

"What are you talking about?" I ask, shaking my head. Suddenly, a cold thought hits me and I lean forward, my voice dropping to a whisper. "You said '_business_'"— I put quotes around the word—"went fine the other day. Are you lying to me?"

He averts my eyes when he replies. "Of course it did, baby. I swear. Just some bad blood from it, you know? It's only temporary. You can move back when it's over."

"Don't bullshit me, Dad," I say, losing my patience. I drop my fork and fling down my napkin onto the table. "That's the only reason why you'd ship me off to another country!"

"I can't risk losing you," he says firmly. He reaches for his glass of crimson wine. "April, listen to me. This is for your own good."

"I'm not some animal you can just control," I snap, narrowing my eyes. "So stop treating me like one. I'm a person! And I'm _not_ Mom! I can handle the things she never could!"

His face blanches like I knew it would, momentarily stunning him. But we both know I've played my last card; I'm desperate to stay in country that I love and understand. I'm freaking_ American_, for crying out loud, even though half of me is Asian.

"I've already set up a place for you to live," he says finally, in a voice of forced gentleness. He's not used to speaking kindly, even to me. "It's nice. I went there last week during the business trip. You'll have your own apartment and you'll live on your own."

"What, that's your way of making it up to me?" I ask coldly. "Independence? I want to stay here, Dad. I wanted to be free _here_."

"Well, that's out of the question," he snaps.

"I can't keep up with the curriculum."

"The school says it will take care of that."

"What did you do, donate a fortune as bribery?" When he says nothing, I gasp in shock. "What the hell, Dad..." I mutter, stuffing the rice pilaf into my mouth in anger. "Do you not have a shred of pride?"

"Your protection means more," he says coolly. "And the language barrier won't be too difficult. You remember everything your mother taught you, don't you? That'll have to be enough."

I roll my eyes. My mother, a native Japanese woman who immigrated to Los Angeles as a college student, had tried to assimilate as best she could when she got here. But of course, once she married my dad and learned that bilingual children got along farther in the world, she spoke only Japanese to me and sent me to Japanese class every Saturday morning.

It was hell.

"You'll be using her last name, of course," says Dad, placing neat square of rare steak into his mouth. "As added protection."

"And money?" The question is quite self-centered, I know. But it's essential that I _do _know where cash for my living expenses are coming from.

"Taken care of," he says breezily. "I don't expect you to be Great Depression-era frugal, but I _am_ expecting you not to draw attention to yourself either."

"Dad, I—"

"Please, April," my father says quietly. He meets my eyes and holds our gaze. I can see the desperation in his eyes, and to see that in a man like him is almost unsettling.

I'm silent.

Even though I started out completely hating the plan, in the last five minutes since I've heard it, it's starting to grow on me. The thought of being alone in a foreign city, instead of scaring me like it did a second ago, is starting to sound more and more appealing by the second. Dad wouldn't be around to bother me. None of his gang business would follow me.

I'd be April Kujira, a nobody, instead of April Standig, daughter of mob boss Eric Standig. None of his crap would influence my new start. I'd have my own place, carve out my own name.

So it's cheesy. But I guess it was all that gooey cheesiness that made my decision for me.

"Fine," I say, subdued, unable to believe the words are coming out of my mouth. "I'll do it."

* * *

When I arrive in the Domino City airport three days later where my dad has arranged for me to stay, it's a couple of my dad's associates who pick me up, men who are just as sketchy as he is. They know that even saying the wrong word to me would mean having to deal with Eric Standig's wrath, so they're careful to only speak when absolutely necessary as they take me to the apartment.

But to be honest, I'd rather they be there than not. I don't think I would be able to move in alone.

The apartment complex they pull up to is kind of nice, I guess. It's like a box of cement, and the closest thing I can think of that it resembles is a motel, as its hallways and doors can all be seen. According to the nice landlady, it also has its own bathhouse, renovated spa, and washing machines. She hands me a pair of keys cheerily and tells me I'm welcome for dinner every night since I'm living alone and I'm not from the area. I can't help but smile; her hospitality for someone she barely knows is heartwarming. I'd expected to be living on instant noodle every night.

After that, the men help me haul my three huge check-in luggage up to my first floor apartment. And when that's done, they leave immediately, probably beside themselves with happiness at having finished dealing with me. But the largest one surprises me. He stops for a moment and turns around. There's no hostility in his face, like I expected. But it is stony. I can't get a grasp of anything.

"Here's a number you can reach us at," he says. He hands me a business card that I take wordlessly. "If you're ever in any _trouble_—" he looks knowingly at me, and I nod my head—"ask for Hotohori. He'll be able to help you out."

"That's your boss?" I ask, glancing down at the card. This Hotohori person owns a number of clubs in the area. _Of course he does_, I think to myself, shaking my head. I look up and nod at the man. He nods back and then with a wave of his hand, he leaves.

I inspect my new home once they're gone. It's nice, I suppose, and I can only guess at why my dad would pick something so small. If he were picking out a place for himself, he'd most likely pick one of those high rise skyscrapers that I passed on my way here. But instead, he picked an apartment in a more quiet part of town. But despite all that, I'm beginning to like the place.

Once you walk in through the door, there's a small kitchen to the left, equipped with the usual appliances. Farther down the hall is a bathroom, and at the end of the hall is my bedroom. The walls are painted a light green and there's a large window with purple curtains. A bed is pushed against the wall, with a tall bookcase behind it and a small closet in front of it. A dark green rug and low, rectangular wooden table cover the shiny hardwood floor. There's a chest of drawers and a small television set on the other side of the room.

All in all, it's pretty quaint. I can't really see myself using more than any of that. I throw my bag onto the floor and collapse on my bed, too exhausted to unpack all of my stuff.

But just as I'm about to fall asleep, a loud blast of rock music explodes through the wall. I pull the pillow over my head, trying to stifle the throbbing drumbeats and crazy guitar, but it doesn't work. I try to ignore it, picking to stay optimistic and hope that whoever the person is, they'll have enough sense to shut down the music.

It doesn't happen. The music just seems to get louder. I can't even hear words; it's all a mess of pure pandemonium. Is this really considered music?

I push myself off the bed, gritting my teeth as I yank open my door. I glance to the left. The music is coming from the room next to me.

Oh. My. God. I haven't even met my neighbor yet, and I'm ready to kill him. So much for manners.

I bang on the blue door with my first. But the music is so loud that my banging has probably become part of the racket.

"HEY!" I yell loudly, pounding on the door even harder. "OPEN UP!"

It's only when I threaten to call the police that the door miraculously opens. My cheeks burn when I take in the person standing behind it.

A guy is standing there, a towel hung low around his waist, his soppy black hair dripping water onto his chest. A burst of steam gusts out behind him, hitting me in the face. He raises one eyebrow when he sees me, a look of amusement rather than irritation on his face.

"Can I help you?" he asks, his voice just barely audible over his blasting noise.

I cross my arms, give a smile dripping with poison, and then lean in a little closer until my lips are close to his ears. "TURN OFF YOUR DAMN MUSIC!" I scream into his ear. He steps back, wincing.

"Jeez, calm down, you crazy woman," he mutters under his breath. He rubs his left ear, glaring down at me. "There's no need to shout."

"Well, I wouldn't have to if you didn't turn your music up so loud!" I retort. "It's giving me a headache!"

"Then take an aspirin," he replies dryly. "I've got a bottle in my cupboard, do you want it?"

My nostrils flare. "No, I do not want your drugs. I want you to turn off your stupid music!"

"First of all," he says pleasantly, as if none of this really bothers him, as if I hadn't just destroyed his hearing. "It's aspirin. I'm only going to give you one. Or two, if you've got cramps or something. And second, what, you don't like AC/dC?"

My eyes widen. This guy is insane. And the fact that he can say all that with a straight face while half-naked completely astounds me.

"I was about to take a nap!" I protest. "Could you please turn it down?"

"Well, since you said please..." he lets the sentence drift away. I'm ready to throw a punch into his arrogant face. Before I can lash out again, he turns and reaches for a remote on his hall table. He aims it into the corner of his room. Immediately, the music cuts off and all I'm left with is a dull throbbing in my ears.

He turns back to me, eyebrow raised.

"Happy?"

I sigh. "Thanks," I say curtly. With a last grudging glare, I turn to leave. He grabs my arm firmly.

"I haven't seen you around before," he says, leaning in a little too close for my liking. His eyes are so green, they're almost hypnotic. "What's your name?"

"It's none of your concern," I counter when I can speak without stammering. I yank my arm out of his grasp and storm back into my own room. It's only when I collapse against the door and try to contain my headache that I realize two things.

He knows where I live now. And what's worse, there are nameplates outside our doors. So he knows my name without even my having to tell him.

Could this day get any worse?

Yeah. Muse is being blasted through the walls now.

This stupid arrogant jerk could _not_ have more nerve.


	2. The Trooper

**Chapter Two : The Trooper**

"Oh, _crap_."

The next morning, I find myself staring in horror at the floppy baby blue bow tie (how's _that_ for alliteration?) in my hand. Apparently, it's part of the ensemble that Domino High School requires their female students to wear, along with the rest of the uniform that's lying innocently on my bed. Sakura, the little daughter of my landlady, dropped it off last night, but I guess I hadn't looked at it as carefully as I'd thought. Part of me is glad—the thing would've given me nightmares. It's as if whoever was commissioned to design the uniform felt lazy and decided to lock up those raging pixies from Disney's _Sleeping Beauty_ with it instead, just to see what would happen.

And why do I say this?

Because the blazer is a nauseating pink and the skirt is a horridly clashing blue. And that tie I missed? I swear it's going to choke me once I put it on.

"I don't believe this," I mutter darkly, rubbing the back of my neck. I actually had to grit my teeth as I put on the cheap cotton blazer and scratchy polyester skirt, out of fear that it would explode on contact with my skin, but now that I've found the tie, I feel like I'm _really_ going to be sick.

It also _completely_ does not help my mood that One Republic was on all night until two, and then this morning at six, _he_ decided Iron Maiden would be his wake-up alarm.

_I need a pair of earplugs_, I groan to myself, carefully fastening the tie. _That's the only way I'm going to survive here._ All of the things I had been trying to avoid seems pointless if his music is busy blasting in the next room. I push away all unpleasant memories to a corner of my mind, but I know it won't stay there for long.

As if to mock me, there's suddenly a loud crash of drums, then followed by a deafening earsplitting roar. I pound my fist at the wall separating us, but when I draw away, all I get is a stinging hand and no satisfaction.

"Stupid, stupid, _stupid…_" I curse under my breath as I grab my bag and sling it over my shoulder. Twirling my keys in my hand, I yank open the door and step out. The cool morning air hits me square in the face but it does nothing to calm me. Outside, the music is muffled, but only slightly. There's a faint ringing in my ears replacing the horrid "music", and I don't know which one is more irritating. I'm half-tempted to bang against his door again, but just as I make up my mind, the music silences and the door opens.

He steps out with a jaunty smile, his royal blue blazer tossed carelessly over his shoulder. His yellow messenger bag is strapped across his rumpled white dress shirt that's just barely tucked into his slacks. He looks like he's just gotten out of bed.

"Hello," he says, his eyes and smile pleasant, but when he sees me glowering at him, his smile into a look of innocent confusion. "Can I help you?"

I huff a sigh and glare. "Your music. Is bothering me. Again."

"Sorry to hear that," he says, turning to lock his door. His tone is so careless, so thoughtless, and when I realize that that was all he was going to give me, it's all I can do not to scream out in fury.

"I would have slept fine," I tell him behind gritted teeth, "had _Powerslave _not been playing all _freaking_ night long!"

That's what gets his attention. All of a sudden, he's looking back at me with this amazed wonder on his face, as if I'm suddenly worth more than two seconds of his killer smile and a half-hearted '_sorry to hear that_'.

_Oh god, I did not__ just think that he had a killer smile._

"You listen to them too?" he asks, a smile at the corner of his lips. It confuses me—is he being snarky or sincere? "The song's great, isn't it? I didn't know you liked my kind of music."

I give him a disparaging scoff. "I don't."

"So how do you know the song—" he glances over at the nameplate on my door "—Kujira-_san_?"

His tactlessness makes me roll my eyes. I suddenly remember that I was in the process of locking my door before he interrupted. I turn back so that I don't have to face him. "Why are you so curious?"

"Why are you one of the few girls I've met who listens to Iron Maiden?" He watches me twist the knob of my door to check if it's really locked with a strange fascination. "You don't even have crazy tattoos or tons of silly facial rings."

"Are you saying that because of the way I look, I should only be listening to a specific kind of music?" I retort. I draw back from him, feeling slightly offended. "Besides, this is a _school_ uniform. Do you think I want to get thrown out on the first day?"

"No." And he says this so innocently that I can't hold back my snort. "You're special."

My cheeks immediately heat up and all comebacks flee my mind. Even if he didn't mean it as a compliment, I'm still stunned. I never expected _that_ to come out of his mouth. I turn away again so that he can't see my expression.

"Besides, you just basically admitted to listening to Iron Maiden," he says to me with a smirk. When I still don't reply, it leaves him confused. "What?" he asks innocuously.

"I don't take compliments from people when I don't know their name," I tell him stoutly. It's the first thing that pops into my head, and he laughs.

He really _laughs_.

"Do you really not know my name?" he asks. "Even after I went through all the trouble to discover yours?"

"Finding my name isn't exactly an archeological excavation," I retort. "I do have a _nameplate_."

"And so do I," he replies without missing a beat. "So please, explain to me why it wasn't simple enough to glance over at mine, even in passing."

I give him a smirk and turn to face him. "Because you are_ not _the center of my world?"

This, instead of puling him into a sullen silence or some sort of protest, like I'd expected, makes him break out into laughter again. It's not crazy laughter or even the forced polite kind, but something in between.

"So let me introduce myself to you then, my lady," he tells me, leaping off the stairs and then turning to bend at the waist, one hand held to his heart and the other out to me. "Ryuji Otogi, my lady."

I bite my lip to keep the laughter from coming out, but it still escapes. "I believe you've forgotten '_at your service_' at the end, my lowly squire."

"I would, had lying been one of my strong suits," he replies smoothly, rising from his bow. "Because, I believe you should know, that _you_ are not the center of _my_ world?"

The glint in his green eyes is so cheeky, and the smile on his lips pairs with it perfectly. I feel a heat flush my cheeks. Right when I thought I had him, he comes back with this. The barriers between us are rising again, but I hadn't even noticed their descent.

This guy is _weird_. I've never met a person like him before.

"I'm glad we got all that settled then," I tell him, when my breath returns. It's definitely not one of my better comebacks, but when I've been up all night and stunned twice by him this morning, it's the best I can come up with. I give him one last glare and stomp away, turning the corner into the main courtyard.

"Good morning, Kujira-_chan_!" calls out Aiko, my landlady, in a cheerful voice when she sees me. "Ready for school?" she asks, brimming with smiles.

"Yes," I say, trying to take some of her happiness and plant it on my face. "At least, I think so."

"Do you know how to get there?" she asks, still smiling warmly, but there's a sudden motherly concern in her eyes. I open my mouth to answer "_yes, I do_", because Sakura told me exactly how to get there, but before I can even speak, someone else interrupts.

"No worries, I can take her." A lazily suave voice cuts into our short conversation. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to tell myself that it's not him, that it's all a dream, that he's really _not_ volunteering, but when I open my eyes, it does no good.

Because _he_ is still standing there, the stuff of my nightmares incarnate. In the royal blue blazer that's he's finally put on and buttoned properly, he actually looks kind of…respectable.

Except for the strange eye tattoo, tacky dice earring, and long hair, of course.

Damn Barney for letting me believe that imagination would really save me. He practically falls into the same category as Disney when it comes to conning little girls.

"Oh, thank you, Otogi-_kun_," Aiko says, actually sighing in relief. Her hospitality, which I found incredibly endearing just a second ago, is now bordering on irritation. But I try to banish my annoyance. In this place where I know no one and nothing, her kind of sincere concern is hard to find. And she's not at all obligated to be this way towards me.

So when she smiles and says, "Aren't you glad, April? Now you don't have to walk to school alone!" I have to smile even if it kills me. "Please be careful, Otogi," she adds. "Kujira-_chan_ is new here, she doesn't understand a lot of it. You'll watch out for her, right?"

"Of course." Ryuji smiles brightly, but to me, I'm about to die. All thoughts of enduring Aiko's treatment is totally out the door.. "Well, come on then!" he says, taking my wrist. "We're already late. See you later!" He waves cheerfully over his shoulder as he drags me off towards the sidewalk. I writhe under his grasp, trying to get away, but he's holding on too tightly.

"Please stop fighting," he says amiably as he hauls me along. We've entered the downtown streets of Domino, where there are way more people to witness me being tugged along by him. "People are going to think I kidnapped you," he continues. My other hand continues to pry at his iron fingers.

"Well yeah, because you kind of just _did_," I retort, still fumbling around. It does absolutely no good. "Freaking _stop_ manhandling me!"

"Please. You're a lady, and ladies are never treated in such a fashion."

"God, you are just unbearable, you know?" Giving up, I drop my trapped hand with such a force that I know I was close to yanking his arm out of his socket.

We stop at a crosswalk. Up ahead, I can see the tall, imposing building that is Domino High School. It looks like three separate buildings have been smashed together, with the one in the middle slightly more forward than the other two. There's a clock on that middle section, but at this far distance, I can't make it out the time.

"What's the time?" I ask, but through clenched teeth. He raises his other hand and shakes his sleeve to reveal his silver watch.

"We've got a couple minutes," he says. We stand for a moment in an awkward silence. I watch the crosswalk timer tick down to zero. Have we really been standing here for fifteen seconds? It honestly doesn't feel like it. The moment the light flashes green, I step off the curb before he does. He can have his grip on me, but that doesn't mean he has to be the one in charge.

But because I move so quickly, I don't see the car making an illegal turn right at me until I turned my head. I brace myself for the impact.

Suddenly, I'm being yanked back roughly and topple into something sturdy and warm. Something encases me tightly, protecting me.

Car honks blare loudly through the streets, and I can hear people yelling. I have to take in a few deep breaths before I can even manage to think.

"Jeez," mutters Ryuji as his grip on me loosens. I suddenly realize that I've been pressing my face into his chest and that his arms had been around me tightly. My face heats up immediately. "Didn't they teach you to look both ways before crossing in elementary school? You're lucky I was holding onto you, Kujira."

"What?" I ask breathlessly, trying to calm my nerves. "Oh. Yeah. Of course they did. After they showed us the bathroom." My legs are weak as I step away, and I bring a hand to my head to steady myself.

"Right." He shakes his head. "Well, come on, Kujira-_chan._ No more distractions. We're late for school."

* * *

"Kujira April."

"Present," I say, without even a hint of peppiness in my voice. The teacher, a rail thin bespectacled man with a penchant for intently studying the face every student he calls out, makes no exception when it comes to me. He squints in my general direction, as if I'm still not visible through his thick glasses.

"You're the new student?" he asks, glancing back down at the roll sheet. I don't even bother restraining the eye roll.

"Yes," I reply. I tap my pencil against my cheek, ignoring the twitters form the people around me. What is so entertaining about this? Is it because I'm new? The teacher before this one made me stand up in front of the class and answer a "Who-What-When-Where-Why" questionnaire in front of the entire class. My only consolation was that her questions were totally random and unexpected, like _where_ my favorite vacation spot was and _what_ was the food I liked most. I felt like a five year old at the end of it all.

I'm hoping to hell this guy doesn't ask for the same thing.

Okay," the _sensei_ mutters under his breath, taking his pencil and meticulously marking the sheet. "Would you like to introduce yourself to the class, Kujira-_san_?"

"Nakamura-_sensei_ already made me," I tell him, hiding my clenched fist. The teachers are the ones swapping classes here, not students, so I've been sitting in the same classroom with the same people for hours already. I know they don't want to listen to my personal history again. But this _sensei _shrugs, as if this is just a minor casualty.

"Well, I don't know you," he says lightly. "And I'm sure everyone else wouldn't mind listening to it again."

Wow, this guy must be _really_ blind, because he doesn't see the scowls on everyone else's faces. Impatiently, he gestures for me to stand and I unwillingly get to my feet. No one's even bothering to pay attention to me.

"What's your name?" he asks. I try not to seem too aggravated. Didn't he just ask me that?

I stifle a sigh of exasperation. "Kujira April."

"Do you have a Japanese name?" He frowns.

"Yes," I reply curtly.

"Why don't you use it?"

"I don't like it."

_This_ is what gets my classmate's attention, because not only am I someone who looks vaguely like them, I'm someone shunning half my culture. But I pretend all their scandalized eyes aren't on me and glare only at the teacher.

"Family?"

"My dad." My stupid, dense, imbecilic dad who sent me to this crazy country where I have to live with crazy neighbors and suffer crazy teachers.

He looks confused. "What about your mother? Any siblings?"

This is _so_ much worse than the Nakamura-_sensei_. At least she accepted monosyllabic answers.

"She's dead," I tell him bluntly. "And I'm an only child. Is there anything else you'd like to know?"

The stricken look on the teacher's face is suddenly covered by his hesitant smile. "No, no...that was very enlightening. You may sit down," he says, bending back down to his roll call sheet. "Yamada Sen?"

As I take my seat, the girl beside me suddenly gives me an understanding smile, one that I automatically return out of reflex. Albeit it's small and barely passable for a smile, but still, I can't help but feel slightly better.

After roll call, the teacher finally begins the lesson for the day. He's the history teacher, and I figured the subject he taught would be as uninteresting as his personality. All we're required to do in this one is take notes, but his lectures are so in-depth that I hardly know what he's saying.

Actually, that goes for all my classes. I knew immediately that I wasn't going to excel in any of my classes. Which definitely makes me feel worse, because even the idiots behind me who are busy throwing notes at each other can recite all these lessons verbatim. Quite honestly, the only class I'll probably ace is foreign language, but only because by default, English is the only language I'm good enough to swear in.

By the time lunch rolls around, I'm so mentally exhausted I just want to pass out. Some people get up to stretch their legs, taking animatedly and pushing their desks together to each with friends. It's the point of the day that I've been dreading most, since I barely know any of my classmates, and already, I feel like a loner.

There's suddenly a whole bunch of loud laughter coming from the back of the room. Unable to hide my irritation, I glance over my shoulder. Otogi and a bunch of his friends are sitting in a corner of the room, wiping tears from their eyes. The clump of girls around them are laughing too, but theirs seems forced. One touches his arm, and says something with a coy look in her eyes, which Ryuji responds to with one of the smiles he gave me this morning. I scoff.

"He's cute, isn't he?" remarks a voice, catching me in the act. I glance over, surprised. It's the girl who smiled at me earlier during roll call. She's sitting with two of her friends, who've arranged their desks together to form a small circle.

"What, him?" I pause for a second. "I guess...I don't know..."

The other brown haired girl sitting in their circle giggles, taking a sip of her soymilk drink. "You came to school with him this morning, didn't you?"

"It wasn't intentional," I tell her, unwillingly. It is an unavoidable topic, I suppose. When Ryuji and I dashed onto the school campus this morning, everyone was still waiting outside to go to class. But because I still had to get my class assignments and stuff in order, he brought me straight to the office. The school administrators made him wait for me until I finished the registration and forced him to escort me to our class. It didn't help that the walls in the classrooms of this school are half glass—both Ryuji and I are kind of tall so everyone could see us as we sprinted to get to class.

"How do you know him?" asks the third one. She's mildly prettier than the other two, with permed black hair that gently waves over her shoulders. Her side-swept bangs have been pinned carefully with a butterfly clip. She's kind of the epitome of what Asians consider cute: big eyes, little lips, and pale as alabaster skin.

The girl who smiled at me earlier whacks her shoulder. "Yuka-_chan_! Don't be so nosy!" She turns to me, rolling her eyes. "Sorry, Kujira-_san_. Yuka-_chan_ here is just overly curious about anything that has to deal with _him_. Please don't be offended."

"I'm not," I say, feeling dull for being so monosyllabic. I seriously cannot do this small talk thing. "Oh, you can just call me April," I add hastily, feeling like an idiot.

"Okay," she says, giving me another smile. This girl just doesn't ever lose her happiness. "I'm Tanaka Mari. Ito Shiori and Sasaki Yuka," she says, gesturing towards each other.

"So how do you know him?" asks Yuka. She's clearly not giving up the subject. I bite my lip to keep from sighing.

"It's a long story," I tell her, hoping that she can guess my hint. I glance over at Mari for help. Is she on my side?

"You're so obsessed with him," she chastises, rolling her eyes at Yuka. "Snap out of it." Quickly, she winks at me and I can't help but laugh. This girl, and I've only known her for three seconds, is a lifesaver.

"Not as much as as _them_," Yuka says haughtily, pointing towards the girls sitting around Duke. "Watch out for his fan club," she warns, tapping her thin chopsticks against her lips, glancing to her left. I follow her gaze, to a group of girls who are surrounding Ryuji. One of them glances over at me and then, all of a sudden, following her lead, all eight pairs of eyes are on me.

Shiori giggles. "They're all so ready to get you after this morning. You'd better watch your back, April-_chan._"

She's right. One of the girls, seeing that she's got all of our attentions, flips me off with a death glare before turning back to the object of her ill-placed affections.

Oh, hell.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Haha :D The second half of this chapter was basically my tribute to every cliché that's ever happened in these stories. But I think now, April might be bordering on Mary-Sue? -.- If she is, please tell me! I just really needed a way to get the story moving. Also, if I messed up on honorifics, please don't hesitate to correct me. The Wikipedia articles have been extremely informative, but I wouldn't be surprised if I've got mistakes here and there.

- Names: Yes, our lovely male hero is being called Ryuji Otogi. But didn't this authoress specifically write "_Duke_xOC" in the summary? Don't worry, this is a _Duke_ story, as you'll see. Expect all those revelations to come in the following chapters! :D

Thanks so much for reading this second chapter :) _Please_ leave a review, it's so important to me to know if there are people out who think this story is worth continuing!


	3. The Lines In My Hand

**Chapter 3 : The Lines In My Hand  
**

By the time the bell rings for the end of school, I've thought of sixty-two schemes to get myself expelled from this hellhole.

Unfortunately, none of them are because I don't have the means mind you, but because I promised Dad, both in writing and vehemently in speech before passing through airport security that I would do nothing to make myself a liability to him.

And me, free from the constraints of school, would definitely be a liability. I need only look at the fiasco of last year that caused the demise of my mother to know.

"Leaving already, April-_chan_?" asks Mari as she watches me slowly, mechanically put all my stuff away. She's already gathered all her things together and there is a huge stack of books sitting neatly on her desk. Most of them, I notice, aren't textbooks at all. They're extra prep books.

Bits of guilt stab through me when I compare my meager stack comprised only of mandatory textbooks to hers.

"School?" I ask, even though I know that's all she could possibly mean. What else could I be leaving? "Yeah."

Yuka saunters up the aisle that separates Mari and me with Shiori. Both of them have purses on their shoulders, but they're also carrying what looks to be enormous beach bags for their books. The guilt compounds exponentially, and I'm reminded of how much work I'm going to have to put in so I won't stay the idiot of the school.

It's hurting my head just thinking about it.

Shiori adjusts the wire-frame glasses so that they don't slide off her nose and onto her lips. She peers at me carefully, as if I'm a specimen she hasn't encountered before. "You're not staying for extra tutoring?"

Does she really believe I would sign myself up for additional persecution? After a whole day of teachers singling me out for my "new student" status and then clear lack of prodigal intellect, I'm completely burned out.

I shake my head, and answer as politely as I can. "No, I don't think so. I've got some errands to run."

That much is true. I've been in this country long enough to have a list of things that I need, but I haven't been here long enough to go out and get them. The apartment as a cordless phone, but I'll feel so much better when I can get my own cell to work in this country. And I decided, during that crap lesson on medieval Japanese battles after lunch, that if I'm really going to be living in this place on my own, I might as well do it right.

Maybe if I try hard enough, I can subsist on food I've cooked myself.

"Lucky," sighs Yuka. I detect a trace of longing in her voice that puzzles me. It's probably not mockery. "You sure you don't need the extra help?"

Ugh. God knows I need it.

But I'm busy today.

"Maybe tomorrow?" I volunteer, as I step out of my desk and hoist my bag up higher on my shoulder. "Is that okay?"

Mari nods. "Takahashi-sensei wouldn't mind."

"Good to know," I say, in the most effervescent tone I can muster, even though half of me is sobbing buckets that I'm signed myself up for more torture.

"Sounds good," says Mari, smiling. "I'll let the teacher know. Se you tomorrow?"

"Yup," I answer, giving them my last grin. "Bye guys."

And then I dart out of the classroom before they can stop me with more great ideas.

The moment I'm out of the classroom, I drop the act with relief. There are still a few groups of people milling around the hallway, and I feel their eyes drift towards me when they think I can't see. But months of forcing flat expressions on my face has made it easy for me to bring back that blatant disregard for opinions. I hurry around the corner and sprint down the stairs.

When I'm on the first floor, I head straight for the little cubbies that hold our shoes. Technically, the dress code calls for loafers but I found it too hard to give up my oxfords, so my shoes are easy to find.

As I drop my bag onto the bench and step out of my white slippers, I notice Otogi and his friends. They're a little hard _not_ to notice, given that the size of their group has clogged up the whole entrance to the school. They're laughing so hard that I expect one of them to start curling up into a fetal position on the floor.

As much as I'd love to begrudge them, I don't, because I can remember a time when I was part of the same thing. We honestly believed we were unstoppable, incomparable to any person who wanted to be part of us. We were so perfectly dressed and so immaculately coiffed that no one could have guessed what we did in our free time.

Though I doubt this group can hold even a candle to the sort of things that we did. Still, it's better if they don't notice me at all. So I slip on my shoes, gather my things, and try to keep my head down as I head out.

But no such luck.

"Leaving already, Kujira-_san_?" calls out Ryuji just as I pass him. I turn, because I refuse to let him intimidate me, and give him by best sardonic smile.

"Yeah," I tell him shortly. I pause, because I'd look like such a idiot if I continued walking. "I'm going home."

"Know the way?" he teases, watching me hoist my bag onto my shoulder. I glare, aware that the whole courtyard has gone silent to watch this exchange.

"Of course I do," I shoot nastily. "You showed me, didn't you?"

"Don't get run over by cars," he advises with a smirk, much to the amusement of his friends.

"That's the plan," I say, with more dripping sarcasm than I want. "Jeez, who do you think you are?"

"Yeah, Otogi-kun. Who do you think you are?" mimics a voice from behind him, before breaking into giggles. The whole group he was with drops silent, watching us. The girl who spoke arches one perfectly curved eyebrow, placing one arm on her hip, and then comes over to us. She leans one arm on his shoulder, as if she owns him. Her eyes, a clearly not natural blue and larger because of her circle lenses, flicker towards me. "You are?"

"On my way out," I answer, tilting my head to the side meaningfully. "I'll see you later."

I turn before any of them can stop me with more words and head out. The blast of fresh air just feels so good on my skin. I swear, if schools suddenly decide to hold classes out in the wilderness, that'll the one thing that I can get on board with.

There's a basketball game going on in the courtyard that I can't help but get distracted by. All the players are so tall and fit, and nearly all of their shirts have become untucked in the process of the game. Their expressions are so intensely focused that I don't think even an earthquake could have stopped this game.

I feel a twinge of nostalgia as I watch the one currently in possession of the ball scamper across the court. He's definitely not the strongest or the tallest, but he's quick and agile. He throws the ball with laser precision and strength, so much so that I'm willing to bet that anyone in the wrong place at the wrong time would have ended up with bruised limbs.

He pants slightly, resting his hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath. Droplets of sweat run down his forehead, his rumpled white shirt quickly becoming untucked. He wipes the back of one wrist across his forehead, and then glances in my direction. Our eyes lock.

And when I gaze into those irises, I don't see him. The resemblance is so similar that it's uncanny...almost like _him_, but...no, I can't think of him. Part of running away from home was to escape from _him _and all that we built.

I shouldn't have stopped to watch this game.

My cheeks flush, and I quickly glance back down, hurrying away from the school. I could have left a trail of dust behind me as far as I knew.

The walk home is so fast that it's a blur, and I don't realize I'm panting until I slam the door close behind me and collapse on the floor. My lower muscles are screaming their protest as I lean back against the door. I drop my bag off my shoulder and close my eyes. I try to breathe.

But behind my closed lids, I can see the basketball player's face again.

_I need to get distracted_, I think to myself as I scramble to my feet and over to my bed, where I've stashed my laptop. Surely there's something online that can distract me?

E-mails. And I've got two legitimate ones.

The first is from my friend Sadie, back home.

_April,_

_Where are you? I tried to ask Derrick, but he wouldn't give me a straight answer. Why would you leave without telling him? Doesn't he know everything about you?  
_

_Talk to me. Please. Where are you?_

I gnaw on my lip, debating with myself, but it's a moot task. No one but a select few—that Dad chose, obviously—are supposed to know where I am. And after last year, that circle got incredibly small.

I open the next one from Dad to procrastinate on a response. Maybe he's given me something to work on.

_I trust your first day went well._

I can't help but chortle. That's just so typical of him. I skim his e-mail that's full of polite nothings, until the last bit.

._..last bit of business. I'm sure one of my men dropped you a message about a man named Hotohori. He's to be trusted only in the most dire of circumstances. He does owe me a favor, but go to him only as a last resort._

_If you find yourself in need, I have managed to contact your Aunt Asuka. She lives in the countryside outside Domino City now, on a farm near the river. I have enclosed her contact info below. I suggest you pay her a visit as soon as possible._

_Be sure to use the right name._

_Dad_

I sigh. Once again, my dad has proved to me why he surpasses all other fathers in the world. Who else would be able to pull off the loving, doting father and badass thug at the same time?

In any case, replying to him is easy.

_Okay._

Perhaps not one of my cleverer moments, but at least it answered his e-mail.

If only Sadie's response were easy to write. I gnaw on my lip. Nowhere in his e-mail has he talked about divulging my location to former friends, but he hasn't said that I can buy a billboard either. My location has to stay secret for now, even if I really want to tell Sadie where I am.

But what do I say? I want to tell her about the basketball player today, about his uncanny resemblance to the boy she ran to for information when I disappeared. And about the boy next door, who just won't stop playing metal and rock music and has bested even me at a verbal fight. I know she'd care. She'd want to hear about it.

But I think, at this point, it's just easier to lie.

_Hey Sadie,_

_Sorry I've been bad at keeping up with you. How was your vacation in Honolulu? Great, right? Wish I was there._

_Stuck here in school in (_and here, I nearly chew a hole in my lip_) Switzerland. Dad had some old relatives he wanted to look after so I'm attending an international school for the moment. Weird, huh? But it's nice here. But absolutely freezing, if you can believe it._

_Well, talk to you soon._

I make no mention of Derrick. He and Sadie are close, probably closer now than I ever was to him, and my response will drive them closer. Mentioning him will raise more questions from her that I don't want to answer, and I find myself unwilling to answer any of them.

But I do wish I could see the look on Derrick's face when Sadie tells him where she thinks I am. Would it be confusion? Bewilderment? Surprise? He used to know everything that was going on in the gang, but after the falling out, he's been relegated completely. No one trusts him after his betrayal.

I want to slam my head into the wall. _Why_ am I living in the past?

Out of pure frustration, I resist the urge to slam the computer against the wall. God knows when I'll have my own funds to procure another one, so the brunt of my frustration will have to come out elsewhere. I reach for my school bag instead, going through my wallet. I still have some familiar green in there that I know I'll have to exchange at some bank sooner or later.

All my connections to my old home, getting away from me as usual.

When I can't take another moment trapped in my apartment, I leave. I wheedle the directions to the supermarket from Aiko, who's loathe to let me go on my own, but I convince her that I am more than independent enough. It's really not that dangerous of a street or that far of a walk. I have less trouble than I expected getting the things that I need so when I'm finally out, I've still got time to explore.

It's not downtown Domino, but it's still fairly cosmopolitan. It's not rush hour yet, so it isn't packed. I stroll past tea shops, gaming arcades, restaurants, card shops, and other little stores that I bookmark in my head to visit in the future. If today is any indication, I'll need distractions.

I meander until the bag of groceries becomes heavy in my arms, and I'm about to turn around when something else makes me stop.

It's the front of the store that catches my attention first. Who in the world is deranged enough to have a cloud exploding out of a box as their logo? The words _Black Crown Game Shop_ pop out beneath it in spiky black and white lettering.

"You don't scare me," I mutter under my breath as the clown beams down at me with maniacal grin, baring all its teeth.

I see why this works now. It's intimidation. If you don't go into the shop, the clown will come after you in the night to mount your head on its tie, which I notice has the faces of people on it.

Just lovely. Who's the shop owner?

More intrigued than I care to admit, I step into the crowded store.

For what it's worth, it's absolutely packed. I can barely see the black and white checkered floor. The dark wooden aisles aren't as narrow as the grocery store that I was just in, but still, there's no room to move around. The shop itself is enormous only on the ground level, and far back, I can see a glass elevator waiting to take up passengers.

Another clown is perched on top of that.

I say we kill the beast. Before, you know, it mauls us.

I clutch my bag of stuff closer to me and try to force my way to the back of the shop. A lot of kinds seem to be fawning over some sort of board game, comparing the monsters and dice clutched in their hands. I make it to the back of the shop next to the elevator with much jostling, but it's worth it to get a peek at the floor plan. There are Duel Monsters cards on the second floor, more of this Dungeon Die Monsters on the third floor, and a dueling arena on the fourth floor.

But then I veer towards the right, towards a tiny corner in the back of the store that seems to have no people. And the moment I look at the games for sale, I understand why. These are the low-key games, the ones that only need table space to play. There are small die games, and card games, and others. I set down my grocery bag and reach for one.

"Interested? It's half-off."

I yelp as I jump back at the sound and nearly drop the tin can, but his hand quickly reaches out and catches it.

"Don't scare me again," I say, snatching it out of his hand and placing it back on the shelf. My cheeks are burning as he smirks, and places it back onto the shelf with the others.

"Duly noted," Ryuji tells me. He leans back and crosses his arms over his clothes. He's changed out of the school clothes into something that's much more street-worthy. Black pants and a dark vest over a black tank are made complete by the dice earring in his ear that I realize he never removes. _It fits him_, I think, but he's the kind of guy that could throw on a burlap sack and look moderately good in it.

He clears his throat. "So, what are you doing here? I didn't have you pegged out as a Dungeon Dice Monsters or a Duel Monsters player."

"Which is why you find me in this back corner," I say, turning so that I can survey the rest of the games along the wall. These are so old school that they make me want to cry when I remember how I'm now "too old" to play with them. "What are you doing here?"

"I own the shop," he says simply, along with a shrug. I turn to him and nod, like I understand.

"Right. It's a family shop."

"No," he says again. "I own it."

As if eighteen year olds can own shops. My look is now confused, one eyebrow raised over the other. "Really?"

"Yeah," he said, careless, as if it's totally normal. "So I can ask you what the hell you're doing here without too much trouble."

I scowl. "Your clown made me come in."

He blinks. "Jerry?"

"Who?"

"This American I hired who was too in love with Japan to go home," he says, with a roll of his eyes and then a shrug. "I hired him out of pity, then put in him a clown suit."

"Aren't you a regular saint."

"Thanks for noticing," he smirks. "But Jerry just took off for his break. Did he drag a pretty girl like you into this shop or what?"

"I didn't see a man dressed as a clown," I tell him. "I meant the one up there." I point over my head.

Otogi blinks. "That clown—"

"—has a deranged smile. Were you the one that planned it? Did you put tortured human faces on its bow-tie?"

He smirks. "Oh, that. Yeah. Just a bout of inspiration. Probably the next best thing to the actual shop."

My face is blank. "Oh my god, you're—"

"—just taking inspiration from everyone on the board," he says with a careless shrug. "What can I say? I've got partners who like cartoons."

It's my turn to blink.

"Don't elaborate, I don't want to know," I said, as our conversation turns to a standstill. I face the shelf of games again, not knowing how I'm ever going to get out of here.

"You like those games?" asks Otogi, as if he's trying to make civil conversation, which is something unimaginable between us.

"Hmm?" I glance back at him.

"These," he says, picking out the tin that I just put back down. It's sort of a puzzle game, where you play with triangles and the sides have to match if you're going to put it beside them. "You like?"

"I've played them a lot," I say, wistful. Almost every night, when there were raids going on. Tera, Sadie, and I would play them, hoping that with every tile we put down, no one we knew was getting shot or dying.

And then when they all came home with nothing less than cosmetic injuries, we'd shove away the box, only to take it out again sometime later that week.  
There was always something going on.

But I don't say any of this, because he has no need to know. God, what is wrong with me? Why am I dragging up all these old memories?

"Kujira-_san_?" he asks, waving a hand in front of my face. I blink again and stare back at him.

"What?"

"Here," he says, handing the box to me. I take it mechanically, and then look up.

"What's this for?"

"I'm giving it to you," he says, like it's so simple. "You like the game? It's always nice to know people like oldies."

"I can't take this," I say, and move to put it back on the shelf, but he holds out his hand.

"I can't let you do that," he says.

I give an impatient sigh. "And why not?"

"You dented it when you dropped it," he said, pointing to a light scuff mark on the side. "It's imperfect now, so I can't sell it."

Weren't we getting along just now? What the hell happened? This is a little too bizarre for me to handle. I don't know if I prefer this civil talk or the verbal sparring."Whatever happened to 'you break it, you buy it'?"

"Minor detail now," he says, the teasing smirk back. "And what, I can't do nice things?"

"Not when you're handing me trash," I say but he's already turning. Someone has called him.

"Seriously, April-_chan_. Consider it a gift."

One of his employees calls out his name again and he leaves. I glance down at the little tin box in my hands, feeling the tears well up. Today has been brutal, no doubt about that, but that doesn't mean I can start bawling in public. It's best if I just leave. I stuff the box back onto the shelf and pick up my groceries, and when I'm sure he has his back to me, I hurry out of the store.

* * *

**Author's Note: **This was most definitely a hard chapter for me to write. If you can't already tell, I'm experimenting with a _lot_ of things in this story, so it will be through and through, a rough draft :) It most definitely will be edited in the future to bring it more in line with subsequent chapters, but I was _really_ excited to get this out for you guys, because you've all been waiting so long. In this chapter, I was doing my best to convey that there is quite a lot to April's backstory that we still don't know about. Of course, it will all be soon revealed, but hopefully right now, that wasn't too unclear. Still, if there is anything at all that you are confused with, _please_ don't hesitate to drop me a line, whether in a review or a message. I will be more than happy to answer any and all questions :)

Thanks so much for reading! Please leave a review on your way out!


End file.
